


white elephant

by shantealeaves



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Christmas Eve, Christmas Party, Gloves, M/M, Mutual Pining, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, White Elephant Gift Exchange, way way way too much glove for a g-rated fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28324578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shantealeaves/pseuds/shantealeaves
Summary: "Okay, okay, but for real," Ryuji says, "what’s going on and what does it have to do with elephants?""It's called White Elephant, and it’s a fun Christmas gift exchange!" Ann says, beaming. “Listen up guys, I’m gonna explain how it works.”(One Christmas later, Goro Akechi goes to the Phantom Thieves' White Elephant party. It turns out what when it comes to a crush, there's a lot you can read into a simple gift exchange.)
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 14
Kudos: 186
Collections: Marigolds Discord Recs





	white elephant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aminami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aminami/gifts).



> this fic is nothing new; there's nothing in here that hasn't been done a million times before, and a million times better, for this ship. it's barely edited and not too considered. as far as akeshu christmas fluff goes, aki themselves just gave us [some fantastic fluff](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28290222) a few days ago that i highly recommend you read.
> 
> despite all that, aki, i hope you enjoy this. it's for you, if only in the hopes that it makes your holiday a little brighter, because you deserve it. merry christmas!
> 
> (by the way—if you don't know what a 'white elephant,' also known as a 'yankee swap' gift exchange is, that's okay! i've tried to explain throughout the fic. if you're still confused while reading, [here is one description of the official rules](https://www.whiteelephantrules.com/) that's more or less how they'll do it in the fic. and if you are still confused let me know and i'll try to clarify in the fic haha...)

It’s been several months since he last stepped into Leblanc, but when Goro opens the door and hears that little bell as the smells and warmth of the cafe draw him in with open arms, it still feels like coming home.

Everyone else is already here. Of course they are; Goro purposely left twenty minutes late. God forbid that he’d be one of the first few people to get there and have to make small talk with someone while waiting for the others to arrive. Or, even worse, there’d be no one else there at all, and he’d be forced to face Akira alone.

No, this is far preferable: opening the door, facing a wave of “Akechi!” and “Finally, he’s here!” as he slowly unties his scarf. He gives them a perfect smile and an excuse about losing track of time and delayed trains.

No one seems to care about the excuse except Akira. Of course—Akira’s sitting there in the booth crammed against the wall, surrounded by everyone he loves, and he can’t just accept the flimsy lie that Goro gives. He has to slightly furrow his brow and purse his lips as he says nothing.

Goro would snap, but instead he just smiles wider.

“Didja bring it?” Ryuji asks, perking up like a little puppy. Of course this is his favorite part of this whole exercise. The Lord Jesus Christ, son of God, was born in a manger to save us all and so on and so forth, and Ryuji, like a child, cares for nothing more than _presents._

Still, Goro nods. He takes his time getting himself settled—brushes his coat off from the few flakes that had just started to fall as he was walking from the station to Leblanc; takes the coat off and places it carefully on the back of one of the unoccupied stools; adjusts his hair where it got swept a bit from the wind; and then, finally, reaches into his briefcase.

He pauses for a moment.

Looks up at Akira. He’s long since lost interest in Goro, has chosen instead to turn his attention to some playful little squabble Ann and Ryuji are having.

Goro reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a small present wrapped clumsily in red wrapping paper and tied in a sad little bow whose shape makes very clear that every step of tying it together was a struggle.

Goro hasn’t had much practice with wrapping presents, after all.

“Throw it over there!” Futaba shouts, gesturing with her thumb to the free booth close to Goro. The tabletop is covered with presents of all sizes. One particularly large and flat one is rested on the bench instead; the rest form a small pile in the middle, and Goro shifts them to bury his own behind a few others. Hopes no one will notice how badly it’s wrapper.

“Now that Akechi has arrived, will someone please explain what is going on?” Yusuke asks. “What are all these wrapped presents for?”

"Yusuke…" Makoto starts carefully. "You did bring one of the presents, right?"

"Not at all."

"You—but there are nine presents...Didn't you see Ann's instructions about getting a present that costs at most 1500 yen? And wrapping it without a name, and—"

"Ah, yes, that. Ann did ask me to bring her something that costs less than 1500 yen a few weeks ago. I thought it was an odd request, but I was happy to oblige, and since I had the materials already, I made a small painting and gave it to Ann a few days ago and have not seen it since—"

"Okay, rule number one of white elephant!" Ann shouts with a laugh, "No saying which gift is yours!"

There’s general laughter and chatter, and Goro uses the opportunity to slip into one of the stools at the bar. He’s facing the group, but as far apart from it as possible.

“Hello, Akechi-senpai!” Sumire says, beaming at him. “It’s so wonderful to see you!”

“It has been a while,” Goro responds with as little affect as possible, then turns away like he’s studiously trying to follow the ten different threads of inane conversation currently going on.

"Okay, okay, but for real," Ryuji says, "what’s going on and what does it have to do with elephants?"

"It's called White Elephant, and it’s a fun Christmas gift exchange!" Ann says, beaming. “Listen up guys, I’m gonna explain how it works.”

The group quiets down, and she then proceeds to not explain how it works at all, and instead pulls a deck of playing cards out of her purse. Then she spends a minute or so pulling out the cards she wants, until she’s satisfied and spreads them for the rest of the group to see.

"Okay, so here's how it'll go. I've got an ace, two, three, all the way through an eight in here, and each of us will take one. That'll be our order, okay? Okay, each person draw a card!”

She splays the cards out of each person to draw in turn. When it’s Goro’s turn, he’s forced to scoot his stool in a little closer to the group.

"Akira, what'd we get?" Morgana asks, putting his little cat paws on the table so that he can get a better look at the card. "Hm!" is all he says after that.

"Is the ace high or low?" Haru asks.

Futaba snorts. "Guess we know which card you got."

"Actually, I didn't! I was simply curious."

"It's low!" Ann says. "So whoever drew the ace gets to go first."

Akira smoothly flips his card around to show the group. Ace of diamonds. “That would be me,” he says.

“Great! Okay, so I’ll explain how this all works. Basically, Akira’s going to pick any present from the pile that he wants, and he’ll unwrap it. Then whoever drew number two—”

“Now _that’s_ me!” Haru says proudly.

“—Goes next, and then Haru has two choices. Either she picks up a new present and unwraps it, and that’s the end of her turn—or she steals Akira’s present!”

“And then Akira gets nothing?” Futaba asks, cackling.

“No, then Akira gets to pick another gift from the pile and unwrap it. And then it’s number three’s turn, and they have the same choice—to unwrap a new present or to steal. Let’s say number three steals from Akira; then Akira can choose either to steal from Haru, or pick another present. So at the end of the round everyone still has a present.”

She’s getting a lot of blank stares from the group.

“L-look,” she says, a bit flustered, “I promise you’ll get it once we start. And it’ll be fun!”

“Ann-senpai, don’t worry, I’ve done one of these before!” Sumire pipes in. “It is fun!”

“And—and just be sure to steal a lot, okay, that’s the fun part!”

“Shouldn’t be a problem for the Phantom Thieves, Lady Ann,” Morgana says proudly. He hops out of Akira’s lap as Akira stands up to push his way out of the booth, and then they go to peruse the pile of gifts together.

They’re taking a while, muttering to each other. Morgana keeps standing on some of the presents, trying to get a feel for their size and weight, before Ryuji shouts, “Boo, just pick one and hurry it up already!”

But they don’t hurry it up, and the group turns back in on itself to chat idly—about what they’ve been up to since the last time they met, about how much fun that last meeting was.

Goro wasn’t there, of course. He hasn’t been _there_ for a while; he avoids these gatherings as a rule. But somehow, in a city of nine million people, Goro managed just yesterday to run into the one person he knows he needs to avoid.

It was careless, he knew. Tokyo was a huge city, so even if he’d decided to stay there after returning from the dead, he’d done so on the condition that he’d make himself an entirely new life. He’d only go to neighborhoods where he’d never travelled before and would stay far, far away from all the places where he knew the Phantom Thieves had left their marks.

Only—he’d been stupid and sentimental, and one thing had lead to another, and he’d found himself there in Kichijoji. In the spot he still thought of as _his_ spot. He wasn’t sure why.

Because he’d missed it, he guessed, even if he didn’t want to.

Because he wondered if what he needed was to officially say goodbye to all the parts of his old life—if maybe _that_ would finally relieve the itch in the back of his heart that kept thinking about them, about him, about it all.

Because the streets were all lit up for Christmas, and it was beautiful.

He’d lingered in front of Penguin Sniper just for a moment, just as he used to wait there for nothing and no one in particular.

Akira spotted him first. Goro (stupid, _stupid)_ was staring off into space and remembering and not taking in much, and Akira and Ann were walking down the path together until they were mere meters from where Akechi was standing, and Goro only realized what had happened when Ann let out a sharp gasp and Goro looked up and there he was, grey eyes locked onto his and freezing him in place.

“You’re here,” Akira had said.

It was a quiet, almost cold reaction. As if it hadn’t been months since they’d last seen each other—and Goro knew it was ridiculous to feel bitter about that when he was the one who’d orchestrated it so that he’d be unreachable, when he was the one who wanted it to be a lot longer than a few months until he’d be forced to see Akira Kurusu again by fate or by design.

“Please, don’t let me interrupt your outing,” Goro said, smiling down at the way Akira and Ann were standing close to each other, her perky little red winter coat and his sleek dark one making them look like just the sweetest little couple.

And then Ann invited him to their party. A Christmas party for the Phantom Thieves, she said.

Goro had raised an eyebrow to that. “Ah, well, I hardly consider myself a Phantom Thief. Wouldn’t want to intrude on your holiday cheer.”

“ _We_ consider you one,” Akira said, “and we’ve been trying to get in touch with you to invite you. I’m only back for a week for holiday break so I’ve been _trying_ to get in touch so I could see you.”

As if Goro didn’t know. As if Goro hadn’t changed his phone number multiple times to keep them from contacting him, as if Goro hadn’t continued to follow along with their lives anyway through a one-way screen anyway.

Yet somehow, by the time Goro left citing a pressing appointment he needed to make, Akira had managed to wrangle out of Goro both his new phone number and a tentative agreement to go to the party.

"Ann,” Yusuke asks loudly, breaking Goro out of his reverie, “the question remains what this has to do with elephants.”

"Uh,” Ann says. “Actually, I don't really know…? It’s just kinda called that in the States! A White Elephant gift exchange!”

“Okay, we’ve picked!” Morgana announces proudly, hopping back over to the center of the table that most of the Thieves are sitting around.

Instead of returning to his seat, though, Akira hovers over the end of the table instead. It puts him a little too close to Goro for comfort.

“Going first puts me at a disadvantage, right?” Akira muses. “I don’t have the chance to swap, unlike everyone else.”

“Oh, right!” Sumire says, clapping her hands together. “Ann-senpai, doesn’t the first person who goes get to go again at the very end? After all the presents are opened, they get to initiate the last swap?”

Ann’s eyes are slightly panicked. “Oh! Um, yeah! I totally forgot, haha…”

“Kinda sounds like you just made that up,” Ryuji says suspiciously.

“No, no!” Sumire is waving her arms in horror at the accusation. “I promise—at least, that’s how we played it! But, ah, maybe I played a different version…?”

“This Wikipedia article says it’s legit,” Futaba says with a shrug, “so I buy it.”

“So I get to go again at the very end, hm?” Akira says quietly, smugly.

“Always have to be special, don’t you, Joker,” Goro mutters. If anything, that just turns Akira’s grin even smugger.

“Come on, dude, open it, we’ve been waiting forever!”

Morgana is practically dancing on the gift now, a somewhat flat box wrapped neatly in silver wrapping paper. “Alright, here we go!” he says, and before he can start tearing into the wrapping paper with his claws, Akira picks it up to take it off neatly.

“Oh, yum,” he says, and Morgana licks his lips, even if what Akira’s holding—a box of beautifully packaged chocolate cookies—is most definitely something Morgana shouldn’t be eating.

“They’re from my favorite bakery in—oh!” Sumire’s beaming smile suddenly turns into wide-eyed terror as she suddenly clasps her hands on her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I forgot we aren’t supposed to say who got what!”

“I don’t think many of them heard you,” Goro says, awkwardly trying to reassure her. He’s right, though—they’re all gasping at the box, trying to read the English letters spelling out the fancy bakery’s name.

“Alright, my turn!” Haru says with bright eyes. She stands and makes her choice, giggling and saying, “I wonder what this could be!” as she picks up the large, flat present that is clearly Yusuke’s painting.

Even if there’s no surprise what the gift is, though, by the time she’s fully unwrapped the paper, she seems in a state of awe nevertheless.

“Oh, Yusuke...this is incredible!”

Proudly, she turns it to the group for them to take in, and there are gasps all around.

“Yusuke,” Makoto says with awe, “this is worth far, far more than 1500 yen…”

He goes on to argue about how little his labor is worth given his current lack of true artistic depth, but Goro tunes him out, just as transfixed by the painting as the others are.

It’s a painting of the Phantom Thieves, black silhouettes of each of them against a deep red background; the blacks of their shapes are interrupted only by the distinct shapes of each of their masks in white—Joker and Sumire’s domino masks, Oracle’s goggles, Panther’s cat face, and on and on. Joker is front and center, of course, and over the background looms the loosely-evoked shape of Arsène, standing watch over them all.

It’s a gorgeous painting, and the Thieves are all rightfully oohing and ahhing over it—but as Goro stares at it, he’s silent, something stuck in his throat.

Goro’s there among the line of them, his black mask painted white just like the rest of theirs as he silhouette stands proudly, one hand on his hip and one up to his chin in a self-assured, righteous posture.

He’s…

Sumire was around for fewer missions than Goro technically was, sure—but she was much more of a Phantom Thief than he ever was. She had that purity of heart and goodness that they all had; her spirit of rebellion even had a look tailor-made to match Joker’s, as if to reinforce just how much she truly belonged.

But him...Yusuke couldn’t have known that Goro was going to be at this Christmas party when he painted this. He said he’d painted it a few weeks ago, and Goro didn’t know until yesterday that he’d be coming. So he didn’t put Goro in the painting just to be polite, just because it would be awkward if Goro was present but not in it.

He did it because…

When Goro draws his eyes away from the painting, he sees Akira clutching his box of cookies and staring at him. Goro glares back and turns around.

“My turn!” Ann says, standing up. Then, “Aaaaaand, that’s mine now!” she says, laughing and snatching the painting out of Haru’s arms before she’s even sat down with it.

Haru lets out an over-the-top scandalized gasp with a wide smile stretching across her face as she does. “Oh, you’ll be sorry for that, missy! I can steal that back from you, right, Ann?”

“Nope, not this turn! Each present can only be stolen once per round. So if you want it back you’ll have to hope someone steals from you later on, so you can then steal it back from me!”

“Oh, I see! This is so fun!” Haru exclaims, even as Ryuji mutters that it really sounds like she’s just pulling rules out of her ass now.

“So now I can either steal from Akira or pick a new gift?” When Ann nods, she goes to the pile and deliberates again for a bit.

She picks out a different gift, a large and exaggeratedly round Buchimaru plushie that the girls coo over.

Another round passes, then another. Yusuke’s painting gets stolen first every round, clearly the most coveted of the gifts and setting off a chain of stealing each round. A small, flowering cactus is unboxed; Akira’s cookies get stolen by Futaba on her round and he unwraps a new gift instead, a limited-edition Featherman keychain.

As gifts are stolen and restolen, as wild accusations are made about who gave each gift and why, and as increasingly loud laughter and joy fills the cafe, Goro feels...empty.

Out of place, maybe, is the better word. It’s not bad—he’s used to smiling and pretending to be having a good time so as to make his presence tolerable by others, even if he hasn’t had to use that skill in quite a while. It’s worse, maybe, because part of him though...well, part of him thought he was over this. Yet here he is, feeling like a total stranger invited out of some sort of pity but not truly belonging. It makes him want to storm out of Leblanc while shouting at them to take their pity and shove it somewhere. Or perhaps he wants to disappear from here entirely. Maybe this is the goodbye he’s been seeking—the realization that their lives are truly going on without him, and that’s exactly what he wanted, and Akira doesn’t need him.

What is he doing here?

“Oh, man, I knew I should have just stolen!” Ryuji says once he’s opened the contents of a package. “No way these are going to fit me, these’ve gotta be for a girl!”

He’s holding up a pair of black gloves.

Goro can’t tell, at this distance, if they’re real leather or not. They look like it—but surely not, for the price range they were given.

All Goro can see is that, out of the corner of his eye, Akira has gone very still and laser-focused on the gloves.

“Well, I guess the fingers are kinda long, maybe a guy with small hands,” Ryuji says, holding up the gloves against Yusuke’s hand to check. “But definitely not me! Someone better steal these from me!”

He gets his wish the very next round. A very hungry Yusuke steals the cookies from Futaba, and Futaba steals the Featherman keychain from Akira—but Akria doesn’t even seem to notice its absence, because the second it’s out of his hands, he’s pouncing on Ryuji, saying, “I’m taking the gloves.”

“Oh, huh, yeah, I guess they’d fit you,” he says with a shrug, tossing them his way.

There are only a few rounds left now. Each round launches a long chain of stealing—the painting is always the first to get stolen, of course, but the Buchimaru plushie has also proven popular, as have the cookies, and then Akira’s gloves are stolen from him.

He looks a little stricken.

The very next round, as soon as he can, he steals them back.

It happens again. Someone casually takes the gloves, just one link in the long line of stealing that makes up the game—and Akira looks like he’s focused, on a mission, to get them back. And he looks so satisfied, so smug, every time he gets them back.

Goro watches with queasy interest, like watching a gazelle get torn apart by a lion on a documentary. He can’t look away, even though it’s his own heart that’s the gazelle.

Finally, number nine. The last person to go before the ace wraps up the game.

Goro gingerly places his card, the nine of hearts, onto the pile, and looks around at the gifts.

There’s one wrapped present left—something small and thin, like a very short book, maybe—and if his deductions about who’s brought which gift are correct, he knows exactly who brought it. And part of him—an irrational, stupid part of him—wants it, because…

Because why? Because if he gets his gift, it means that he owns some stupid, tiny, worthless part of him? Because he’s a desperate, gay disaster, clinging to any little sentinemental trinket of him that he can get?

But he knows that about himself. Pathetic as those wishes are, he knows they’re part of him; he’s long since made an aggravated sort of peace with them, folds them up neatly and puts them way in the back of the closet of his mind every morning.

Just like being able to have Akira’s gift feels like it has some sort of significance far beyond the simple owning of the less-than-1500-yen, could-have-been-for-anyone trinket, though, there’s also a significance—maybe an even greater one—to seeing what Akira himself will choose.

He’s reading too much into this fucking game. He knows he is. But if Akira chooses these damn gloves one more time, then Goro will know...he’ll take it as a sign. A statement, of what really matters to him.

It’s Goro’s turn. He puts the nine of hearts down on the table, and he looks into Akira’s eyes, and he extends his hand out to him demandingly. In a low voice, he says, “I think these gloves will look quite nice on me, don’t you agree, Akira?”

Akira’s eyes go wide, and Goro can see him swallow, just a little, as he stares back at Goro. Confused. Annoyed, maybe? Goro can’t tell.

Then Akira smirks, his lips quirking up into a cruel smile sharper than Joker’s dagger, and he says, “Enjoy them for the moment, Akechi, but you know I’ll be taking them right back.”

Goro’s stomach sinks. He can’t—he wants to get out of here, right now.

But he waits, because the game isn’t over quite yet.

“The painting, please,” Akira says, pleased as can be, to Makoto, setting off another round of trading. Goro tunes it all out.

He vaguely notes when Ann decides, instead of stealing another gift, to open the final unwrapped gift—the gift Akira brought, Goro is fairly sure. Because of course. It’s a fan-drawn comic book about the Phantom Thieves that Akira must have found in some used-books bargain-bin of a bookstore, back from when people remembered the Phantom Thieves as more than just an urban legend. They all page through it for a few minutes, laughing uproariously at all the inaccuracies and assumptions made by the artist as Yusuke makes indignant art criticisms, as well.

Goro sits in his stool and waits, patiently, for the very moment when it’ll be polite to leave.

“Alright, the final round!” Ann says, clapping her hands together. “So, Akira, you can now choose to swap with someone else, and then that’ll be your final gift—no more swapping for you. And then that person can swap with someone else who hasn’t been swapped yet—unless they’re happy with what they have, in which case they don’t swap and the game is over!”

Sumire’s eyes go wide as she clutches the round plush Buchimaru to her chest protectively. “So someone can steal our gift now and—and we can’t get it back!”

“Yep!” Ann says with a vicious smile. “It’s a cruel world out here in White Elephant!”

“So, Akira,” Makoto says, a small smile of genuine enjoyment of the evening and the game on her face. “Are you going to swap, or stick with what you have?”

Akira stands up, clears his throat. “Well, this painting has been highly coveted all evening, as I’m sure you all know. It would be easy enough for me to simply keep it, and end the game here and now,” and _god_ , does he really have to be sauntering over towards Goro, all Joker-like in his bravado? Can he not just get it over with? “However, I think we all know what I _really_ want.”

He’s far closer than Goro can stand for him to be when he puts out a hand and says, “The gloves, if you would, Akechi.”

He hands the gloves over without a word, without looking at Akira at all. Akira takes them and walks, pleased as he can be, back to the bench, and even as Morgana asks him none-to-quietly, “Why the gloves?! Why not the cookies, or—or the cute planner, I don’t understand—”

Goro isn’t listening. He’s looking down at the painting in his hands.

It really is a gorgeous painting. But his eyes keep tracking to his own silhouette in the line. The more he looks at it now, the more he sees just how wrong it looks, like every line that places him there is out of place, like Yusuke, the great artist, made his first huge and irreparable mistake.

He extends the painting towards Futaba to swap. “I’ll take that, please,” he says to her, even as her eyes go wide, even as she asks, _wait, really?_ and all he can do is nod through the tightness in his throat, yes, really.

He swaps with Futaba and gets back his own fucking Featherman keychain that he’d bought for this stupid event.

Nothing lost, nothing gained, all in all. And isn’t that the best he could hope for, really, for going to something like this? No one knows any better—they won’t know he got his own stupid gift back, they won’t know how much he felt like he’d staked in this and—and how pathetic that was, to begin with.

Because what was he hoping for—what exactly was he expecting from a stupid gift exchange between the Phantom Thieves? Not only was he stupid for assuming anyone but neurotic him would be reading messages into a gift exchange in the first place, but the messages themselves that he hoped for were stupid, stupid, stupid. What, did he finally think that Akira would use an under-1500-yen White Elephant to tell Goro what he’s wanted to hear all along even if he could never admit it to himself without shrouding it under ten layers of pretext: that Goro should _stay,_ that he’s _wanted_ , that Akira wants _him_?

Well, it turns out, Akira did send a message. A loud and clear one, in fact.

Futaba’s more than happy to be the recipient of the painting, and so the gift exchange ends, and they’re suddenly all laughing and talking as they tell each other who brought which gifts. Oh, Makoto got the Buchimaru plush, how utterly _surprising_ given that she and her sister are utterly infatuated with the childish mascot? Haru brought the cactus, how could _anyone_ have guessed that she would be the one to bring a plant? 

Oh, and Ann brought the gloves— _yes,_ they were under 1500 yen, she laughs, they were _free,_ someone gave them to her as extras after a modeling gig!—isn’t that something. As if that wasn’t made perfectly clear when Akira was so _eager_ to get his little girlfriend’s gift, willing to steal from whomever was necessary to get them. It was all just so _cute_ and _fun._

When Ann finishes telling them how and why she got the gloves, Akira’s left wide-eyed and gaping in Goro’s direction, holding them limply.

Goro doesn’t see. He doesn’t care. He’s already halfway out the door, having muttered his apologies that he needed to make an early departure to anyone who could hear, his thanks for such a wonderful time, his certainty that he’d be seeing them again soon, of course—and then finally, finally, he’s out of Leblanc, out of that toasty and suffocating warmth; finally he can breathe again, even as a frustrating tightness in his throat starts to make it harder again.

Stupid. He’s stupid, he—he’s supposed to be better than this.

Isn’t this the sign he’s been looking for that it’s long past time for him to leave all this behind?

“Akechi!” a voice calls from behind him. It startles him, just a little bit; but he’s walking fast enough, and it’s far enough behind him, that he can pretend he hasn’t heard it.

“Hey! Akechi!” the voice calls again, only getting closer this time, and Goro speeds up his walking ever so slightly, just needs to get to the station and then he’ll be—

“Hey!” Akira shouts, grabbing onto Goro’s sleeve. “Where are you going, why did you rush out like that?”

Goro takes a deep breath and tries to shake Akira off. When it doesn’t work, he turns around with his most pinched smile. “Ah, Kurusu-kun, my apologies—I had explained to the others that I needed to make an early start tomorrow morning, and—”

His gaze catches on what Akira’s holding. Those damn gloves, still.

Akira seems to notice where Goro’s gaze goes, because suddenly he’s a little bashful, moving his hands behind his back to hide them.

Like Goro isn’t even good enough to _look_ at them.

The gesture ticks Goro off more than it should, and maybe that’s what makes him not just do what he should, which is to say—have a pleasant evening, Kurusu-kun, thank you for inviting me, I had a lovely time.

Instead, he does what he knows he shouldn’t do—he sneers, and he pushes.

“Surely you didn’t need to use a gift exchange between _all_ your friends to flirt with your little girlfriend?”

“Wh-what?”

“I’m sure she was pleased, of course. How _insistent_ you were to get her gift.”

“You think I’m—”

“It’s funny how it works out, isn’t it, Akira,” he says. He knows he’s just rambling now, knows he’s going to regret every word he says even as they burn so strongly that he can’t _not_ say them. “I once thought gloves were…”

Akira’s glaring right back at him, now. “Were _what,_ Akechi?”

“No, nevermind. Of course you don’t remember. In the long string of horrors I inflicted upon you that year, I’m sure the glove was merely one of many that you put out of your mind as soon as you possibly—”

“Holy fuck, Akechi, could you just—”

“I can’t very well blame you, of course, and yet it’s curious, isn’t it, how easy it is for something to mean one thing with one person and then for you to make it mean an entirely different thing with another—”

Akira is standing very, very close to Goro now, his hands have found their way to Goro’s shoulders, and he gives Goro two violent, angry shakes.

“Akechi. Shut. Up,” he says insistently, and with how close Akira suddenly is, Goro can’t help it when his body suddenly follows Akira’s instructions.

Akira takes the moment of silence to close his eyes and take a deep breath. He shakes his head a little bit, and then gives a small smile.

“You…” Akira starts, and finally looks up into Akechi’s eyes. His own grey ones are full of anger and frustration, even as his lips are quirked into a slightly amused smile. “You drive me absolutely crazy, Akechi. And I don’t mean that in the fun way. Or, no, I do—but—”

He takes another deep breath. Tries again. “You don’t finish your sentences when you’re like this. You make the absolute worst assumptions you can about me, you insult me in little half-sentences that no normal person could follow and then take my silence to mean that all your assumptions were true. You use that to justify the worst possible assumptions about me, and then you leave for months at a time, leaving me to find you in the middle of the street.”

He worries the gloves around in his fingers. Less like they’re precious to him, now—more like he’s forgotten they’re there, like he needs something to do with his hands as he takes deep breaths and tries to keep going. “I—” and he sighs, still having trouble getting it out.

Then he smiles at Goro, and even as Goro wants to slap his hands away and walk off, that smile slightly takes his breath away. So he doesn't.

When it's clear Goro isn't going to walk away, Akira reaches into the back pocket of his jeans.

He pulls out a creased and faded black glove. It hardly looks anything like the one Goro threw at him one long, long year ago, worn from a year's worth of friction in his pocket.

Akira holds it out in this hands for Goro to examine like it's something precious.

"Of course I didn't forget. Never. I've held onto it, and when I saw those gloves, I assumed…"

Goro can just see red starting to flush at the tips of Akira's ears, and watching that flush spread down from his ears high onto his cheeks is a little transfixing. "Now who's speaking in half-sentences," Goro murmurs.

Akira gives him a playful little shove and says, "Oh, shut it." Then he takes what must be his dozenth deep breath of the freezing December air and says, "God, this is embarrassing. Okay. I thought it was, like, a symbol, or something? That, like, if the one glove was a symbol of your challenge to me, and I held onto it for your promise that you'd return, then a new pair of gloves was...I don't know...a new start, together, or...something…"

He trails off. His face is nearly fully red now, and Goro smirks. "Goodness, Akira, that is embarrassing."

"Oh, fuck you, shut up," he says with a laugh, shoving Goro a little.

"Besides," Goro says with another smirk, "I'd never pick out gloves as ugly as those. I'm offended you'd think I'd send a message with _those_ hideous gloves."

Now Akira is laughing outright, something loud and bouncy and glorious, and Goro can't help the stupid, stupid smile that spreads on his own face.

Akira hasn't moved his hands from Goro's shoulders from when he shoved him. In fact, he's gripping Goro's shoulders harder than ever—and he's looking straight into Goro's eyes.

"Akechi," he says, his eyebrow creasing. He nervously licks his lips as he draws a little closer. "I."

Goro's heart is suddenly racing, and it's like he's snapped out of something he should have known better than to get sucked in by in the first place. _Shit._

"I need to go, Akira, I—"

" _Please,_ Akechi," Akira says. Goro's already started to move, trying to maneuver his way out of Akira's grip on his shoulders—but Akira just drops what he's holding in both hands, the new pair of gloves in one and the old work glove I'm the other, and uses his hands' newfound freedom to grasp at Akechi's hands.

His grasp is tight. There's a desperation in his eyes.

"Please, Akechi," he whispers. "One year ago today—fuck, I've been thinking about it all day. I didn't even think you'd come tonight and just the possibility drove me crazy. One year ago on Christmas Eve you suddenly appeared again only to turn yourself in, and—"

He lowers his eyes. He looks small, he looks vulnerable.

"The only thing I wanted that night was for you to stay. I wanted to beg you to stay, just for one night. And I didn't, and I let you go. And I did it again in February, when you left."

His eyes go fierce now. "I don't want to let you go again. I want you to stay."

Goro doesn't know what to say.

The only sound between them is the wind lightly whipping between them, all the louder for its freezing chill. At their feet between them are three gloves, two new and one loved, but they're nothing but black blurs at the bottom of Goro's peripheral vision because he couldn't break from the hold of Akira's gaze if he tried.

They've been staring at each other for a while, and Goro might have been gaping at just how _Akira_ Akira really is.

"Hey," Akira whispers. "The others will be gone soon. And the weather's looking really bad, isn't it?"

There are a few of the tiniest, wispiest flakes of snow falling from the sky, hardly visible as they lazily float to the ground and disappearing into dots of nothingness the moment they hit the ground. Goro raises an eyebrow.

"It's looking really bad out there," Akira says, completely deadpan. "The trains might stop running soon."

"Really, Akira? That's how you're going to play this?"

Akira's face blooms with a smile, and it's like the brightest Christmas star he's ever seen. He grasps Goro's hands between his own.

"Stay," he asks.

And Goro stays.

**Author's Note:**

> and then they did filthy things with those subpar-quality gloves to punish akira for thinking goro would ever purchase something so ugly :)


End file.
